Gossamer Cord

“There was no sign of strangulation on Annette’s body when they found her,” I protested. “If there had been, it would have been quickly noticed.”

“She had been in the sea all those days, hadn’t she?” insisted Mrs. Pardell.

“I think the evidence would still be there.”

Nothing would convince her, but she said it was nice to talk to somebody about it. “And you lost your sister, I lost my daughter. It links us…if you know what I mean.”

I felt faintly depressed after my visit to her.

I was seeing Jowan more frequently. He introduced me to Joe Tregarth who was his manager. He was clearly devoted to Jowan. He told me it was a pity Jowan had not come into the property before and that it was a pleasure to work for someone who knew what he was about.

Whenever I went into the town I was aware of the looks which came my way. True, there was slightly less interest than there had been because the mystery of Dorabella’s disappearance was becoming stale news, yet I was still part of one of those old legends which would be revived every now and then.

I found a morbid fascination in the gardens. I used to sit there in the afternoons and look over the beach thinking of Dorabella. I pictured her again and again, going down there that morning, plunging into the cold water and being lost forever. But I could not believe it happened like that.

It was late afternoon. I had been sitting there for about half an hour when I heard footsteps descending and, to my surprise, I saw Gordon Lewyth coming toward me.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “You come here often, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“May I sit with you?”

The seat was a stone ledge cut out of the rock. There was room for about four people on it.

He sat down. “It doesn’t make you happy, does it, sitting here?” he said. “It brings it all back.”

“Yes. I suppose you are right.”

“And yet…you find it irresistible.”

“I cannot understand it at all,” I told him. “That my sister should suddenly start bathing in the morning. It would be decidedly chilly, and she was never the Spartan type.”

“People have strange fancies.”

“I cannot believe that she is dead.”

“But she has gone, hasn’t she?”

“Her body has never been washed up.”

“That does not mean she is alive. Some are never seen again. She could have been washed out to sea…or lying on the ocean bed.”

I shivered.

He said: “I’m sorry. But I reckon the sooner you face up to the fact that she has gone, the better. You’ll start to get over it then. You’d be better away from here.”

“Yes, I think so. But I could not go without Tristan.”

“I don’t think he will be allowed to go.”

“I understand that he belongs to this place, but Dermot would not stop his going.”

“Dermot is in a mood to be indifferent about everything at the moment.”

“It was such a tragedy for him.”

“As for you. I think you would be happier with your parents. You’re brooding here. You can’t escape from it.”

“If only I could take Tristan…”

“The child has to stay here. His grandfather insists on that.”

“And I have promised my sister to look after him if she were not here to do so.”

“Did she have a premonition that she might not be?”

“She must have had.”

“That’s very strange.”

“So many strange things have happened.”

“It is the interpretation which is put on them. We Cornish are by nature superstitious. I wonder why. Perhaps because we have had a harder life than some. The population is made up of fishermen and miners—both hazardous occupations. When there are fatal accidents at sea or in the mines these legends are born. They will tell you that the knackers who live underground are the ghosts of those who murdered Jesus Christ. There have been many who have said they have seen them. ‘The size of a sixpenny doll,’ one man told me. I imagine a sixpenny doll in the old days might have been about six inches high—dressed like an old tinner, which is what they call miners in these parts. Miners had to leave what they called a ‘didjan,’ which was part of their lunch for the knackers, otherwise they could expect trouble. Imagine the hardship for those who found difficulty in providing their own frugal meal.”

“You know a great deal about the old legends and customs.”

“One picks it up over the years, and I have lived here all my life…though not in this house, of course. I am not one of the family.”

“I thought there was a distant connection.”

He hesitated for a moment, then smiled wryly.

“Oh, there might be. I was telling you about the legends. It is the dangerous occupations. People think of ill luck that could befall them. They talk of black dogs and white hares seen at the mineshafts which are a warning of approaching evil. You must understand that people who are often facing danger look for signs. Now they say that Jermyns and Tregarlands should never have become friendly and, because they have, there will be disaster.”

“Do they really think that my sister’s death is due to that?”

“I am sure they do. They will say that someone brought about this evil.”

“Myself!” I cried.

He nodded and looked at me in an odd sort of way.